


Sleepwalking

by Slice_of_Apple



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Spoilers, Sweet, impulsive Eren Jaeger, maybe spoilers up to episode 45 of the anime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25466524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slice_of_Apple/pseuds/Slice_of_Apple
Summary: Eren starts sleepwalking. Armin can't cope. Jean helps out, and realizes a few things in the process.
Relationships: Jean Kirstein/Eren Yeager, Sasha Blouse/Connie Springer
Comments: 22
Kudos: 235





	Sleepwalking

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fan fic, so my apologies if the tags, etc aren't right. I'm also having trouble with the formatting.

Jean isn’t sure what wakes him up. He just finds himself wide awake and staring at the ceiling of the barracks. He glances at the clock at the head of his bed and can barely make out the numbers: 2:30 in the morning. Shit, tomorrow’s going to be a very long day if he can’t get back to sleep. He rolls over and tries to bury his head in his pillow. After 10 more minutes of tossing and turning, he realizes sleep isn’t coming any time soon. There’s something at the edge of his mind, bothering him, but he doesn’t quite know what it is. He decides to go wash his face.

He’s leaving the bathroom when he hears something. Coming from down the hall, around the corner. Where the gear is stored. The hairs raise on the back of his neck, and he’s suddenly wide awake. Nobody should be near the lockers at this hour.

Creeping down the hall in the shadows, he rounds the corner. Moonlight floods the room through the high windows, and he sees two figures stopped in front of an open locker. The smaller figure seems to be clinging to the larger one, and Jean can just make out the words, “Eren, can you please stop?” Of course. Any trouble anywhere, it’s always going to involve Eren Jaeger.

As he steps closer, he realizes something’s a bit off, though. Eren is moving in an odd, jerky way, and his eyes are closed. His cheeks are wet, too, as though he’s been crying.

“Is he asleep?” he asks. Armin whirls around, clearly panicked. His shoulders sag in relief when he realizes it’s only Jean.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “He’s been sleepwalking lately. Pretty much every night.”

“Oh,” says Jean blankly.

“Exactly,” says Armin. “I’m not sure what to do about it. He used to go right back to bed, but lately it’s been taking longer and longer. I’m afraid one night I won’t wake up with him and he’ll wander out of the Scout wing altogether. Plus, he really, really doesn’t want anyone else to know - especially Mikasa. Or the Captain. But, I’ve run out of ideas, and I’m pretty wrecked.” He sounds desperate. Even in the moonlight, Jean can tell he’s exhausted, can barely hold himself upright. But he rallies, and tugs on Eren’s sleeve, saying coaxingly, “Come on, Eren, you don’t need your gear now.”

Eren doesn’t pay the slightest attention to him. All of the sudden Jean is fed up. Isn’t that just like Eren fucking Jaeger, to go and mess up not only his own sleep, but also Armin’s, and now Jean’s, too.

“Idiot!” he hisses, sharply. “Put your gear back in your fucking locker. It’s the middle of the night.” At this, Eren stiffens, and stops trying to wrangle the straps around his pajama bottoms.

“That’s right,” said Jean. “Let’s put that shit away.” As he’s talking, he leans in to unwrap the tangled straps from Eren’s waist, carefully smoothing them out and hanging them neatly in the locker.

“Come on, if anyone needs their beauty sleep, it’s you,” he says, tugging on Eren’s sleeve. Eren turns slowly towards their sleep quarters and begins walking back with that same lurching gait.

"Thank you,” breathes Armin, relief evident in his voice. Jean spares a glance at Armin as he pulls Eren along. Armin’s head is drooping, and it looks as though he might actually fall flat onto the floor. Jean doesn’t quite know why he says what he says next- after all, none of this is really his problem- but he feels sorry for Armin, and maybe he also feels a little superior that Eren listened to him and not Armin.

“You wanna switch beds? That way, if he tries any of this shit again, I can stop him, and you can sleep the rest of the night.” Jean can see that Armin wants to say _No_ , that he’ll keep watch over Eren, but he’s wavering because the words “sleep the rest of the night” are hovering temptingly over him, like a mirage in the desert.

“The night’s kind of ruined for me anyway. I’ll never get back to sleep at this hour,” he adds. It’s not true, and he’s pretty sure Armin knows it’s not true- Jean’s a soldier after all, and he can sleep anywhere, anytime (except for earlier tonight, maybe), but Armin only nods gratefully. When they get back into the bunk room, Armin stumbles into Jean’s bed.

Jean maneuvers the spasmodic Eren towards his bed. When they reach it, Eren freezes. Jean pushes Eren gently. Eren pushes back. His eyes are still closed, but he has started to tremble, and he puts out a shaking hand in a clear “stop” gesture.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Jean says. He’s a little at a loss of what to do. While he’s trying to figure it out, he reaches out and takes hold of the _Stop_ hand. The contact seems to calm Eren down a bit, and he stops trembling.

“Let’s try this one over here,” he breathes, pointing to Armin’s bed. Eren seems to be more okay with this. He shuffles along next to Jean, but he digs in his heels when Jean tries to propel him into the bed. Jean lets out a frustrated sigh and glares at the lump that is Armin, curled up in Jean’s comfortable bed, under Jean’s warm, cozy blankets, with his head resting on Jean’s sort-of-soft pillow. He’s already asleep; Jean recognizes the snores. Jean feels suddenly angry at him, even though he knows it’s not Armin’s fault.

Jean sits down on Armin’s bed. With his free hand he rubs his eyes. Now that his earlier adrenaline is wearing off, he’s starting to feel very tired indeed, and more than a little frustrated. He’s just thinking that he’s going to be stuck holding an upright Eren’s hand for the rest of the night, when there’s a rush of air, and Eren plops down next to him.

“Ah, monkey see, monkey do,” Jean mutters. Without thinking too much about it, he stretches himself out on Armin’s bed and nudges Eren’s hand towards Eren’s bed, hoping he’ll follow suit. Eren immediately tries to lie down next to him.

“No, you moron, your bed’s over there,” Jean whispers, making shooing motions towards Eren’s bed. Eren either can’t understand him or doesn’t want to do it. Jean thinks it’s probably the latter; after all, Eren is nothing if not a stubborn mule. He doesn’t want to get up though, so instead he scoots as close to the wall as he can so Eren can squeeze in beside him. There is barely room on the narrow bed for one person, let alone two, but at this point it’s such a relief to be lying down that he thinks he’ll take what he can get. He’s jammed up against the wall, and Eren’s elbows are sticking into his back, but it’s actually not that bad, and before he knows it, he finds himself falling asleep.

When he wakes up in the morning, he’s by himself. The only reason he knows it wasn’t a dream is that he’s still in Armin’s bed. Eren’s bed is empty.

As expected, the next day is a long one. When Jean gets back from breakfast, he finds Armin putting clean sheets onto the bed Jean slept in last night, and it looks like he’s already transferred Jean’s few belongings to the small shelf next to the bed. Armin starts guiltily when he sees Jean, but just sends a pleading look his way. He looks better than he’s looked in a while. There’s a spring in his step that Jean hadn’t even really noticed was missing until it came back, but there are still deep shadows under his eyes.

“Fine,” Jean says, and he is rewarded with a beatific smile from Armin.

It’s a strange time for the Scouts. They are gearing up for some big mission; they know this, because Captain Levi has orchestrated a cleaning frenzy of unparalleled proportions, which, as anyone could tell you, is how he deals with that kind of stress. So immediately after the standard battery of morning drills, they are each assigned to some Herculean and, in Jean’s humble opinion, useless, cleaning activity.

Jean is charged with cleaning and organizing a storage room which looks like it has been a repository for random junk for at least twenty years. It takes him two hours to even sort through the gear, which is scattered higgledy-piggledy throughout the room. He doesn’t mind so much today, though, because it requires just enough thought that his mind is prevented from wandering.

By late afternoon, the gear is stacked into neat piles, he has finished scrubbing the floor and has just started on the walls. He would like to pass inspection on the first round, so he is crouched under a windowsill, meticulously gouging out a stubborn piece of grime with a rough cloth, when the door opens. He hears squelching feet, and the unmistakable smell of the stables reaches him. Wrinkling his nose he says, “Awww, please tell me some blockhead didn’t just walk all over my nice clean floor with stable muck all over their boo-“

He breaks off as he turns around and sees that it’s Eren. Eren stops where he is and has the grace to look embarrassed, but he doesn’t leave. Mixed in with the embarrassment is an odd expression: not angry, or challenging, more like he’s bracing himself for a punch. His voice is uncharacteristically subdued when he says, “Armin told me what you did last night. Thanks.”

Jean stares up at him for a moment blankly, then shakes his head. He wants to come out with a witty reply. He’s finally got Eren at his mercy; trapped in a situation where Jean unaccountably has the upper hand. He wants to say something withering, something that Eren will never forget, about tears and sleepwalking, all laced up in an ironic “humanity’s greatest hope” jab. But then a peculiar thought comes to him: the thought that if he, Jean, was humanity’s greatest hope, he’d probably do a lot worse than cry a little bit and sleepwalk. So, all he says is, “Any time, man.”

Eren looks surprised, even a little shocked, and Jean quickly turns back to the windowsill, as though it’s a very complicated piece of machinery that requires his full attention. He hears Eren shuffle his feet slightly, as if he’s waiting around to say something else, but Jean keeps scrubbing away at the now very clean spot with his back turned. Eren finally starts walking away; thankfully, the smell recedes with him. Jean hears the door swing open, and at the last possible moment he calls out in what he hopes is a scathing tone of voice, but which probably just sounds prissy, “As long as you take a shower first!”

Eren’s subconscious apparently takes Jean’s words as an open invitation, because that same night, Jean is woken up by a very clean-smelling Eren sleep-clambering into bed with him. He drowsily rolls toward the wall to make room, and Eren slides into place.

And so it becomes a routine. He and Armin more or less permanently switch places, and he gets used to sleeping on his side, squashed up against the wall. No one notices, or if they do, no one says anything. Everyone’s too exhausted from cleaning, anyway. Or maybe they’re too busy teasing Connie about finally asking Sasha to marry him. Connie’s blush is indeed something to behold, and provides what seems like endless hours of entertainment.

Connie’s proposal came completely out of the blue, at least to Jean. It happened at the 104th Cadet Corps annual reunion/group birthday celebration, which of course always turned into a memorial service for those who had died. Once the toasts had been made, and they had all gotten over the fact that somehow, against the odds, those remaining had made it to the ripe old age of 19, and they had all downed sufficient amounts of alcohol to be buzzed in a melancholy sort of way, Connie awkwardly got down on one knee. Jean didn’t realize what was happening until he heard Connie, _Connie_ of all people, asking Sasha in a sober, serious voice, if she would do him the honor of marrying him. That’s exactly what he said, too: “Would you do me the honor of marrying me?” He had a ring and everything.

Sasha gave a delighted squawk, and threw her arms around Connie’s neck. Connie, grinning from ear to ear, immediately pulled out a basket full of freshly baked potatoes. The potatoes were surprisingly delicious, with a flaky outer crust and a hot, creamy interior.

After the initial buzz had died down, and while basically everyone was gathered around Sasha, admiring her new jewelry, Jean ambled over to where Connie was sitting against a wall and slid down next to him.

“Congratulations,” said Jean.

“Thanks,” said Connie, sounding somewhat dazed.

“Why’d you do it?” asked Jean. He wasn’t just making small talk. He really wanted to know why anyone in this crazy, fucked-up nightmare of a world would even think about getting married.

“Well,” Connie had replied, ducking his head and scratching the back of his neck. “I told myself that if I lived another year, I would grow a pair and finally ask her. There just didn’t seem like there was any point in waiting, because nothing’s changing anytime soon. And, I thought, why shouldn’t we grab a little happiness during the time we have left, however long that might be.”

“Huh,” grunted Jean, at a loss for words. It was almost surreal to have Connie of all people talking in such a mature, rational way. And maybe it was the alcohol, or the fact that Sasha chose that moment to look up at Connie with a face so full of naked adoration that Jean felt like he was spying, but a strange feeling fizzed in his chest.

“Congratulations,” he said again, his voice a little husky, but Connie didn’t have any attention to spare for him, not with Sasha looking at him like that. Jean realized his time was up, and he rose to his feet, a little unsteadily. He must not have realized how tipsy he was, though, because he had only taken a few tottering steps when he tripped over a pair of legs stretched out on the ground in front of him. It was only sheer luck that the hand he threw out grabbed onto something solid and partially broke his fall, so he ended up on his knees rather than sprawled in the dirt. He lifted a foot to steady himself, when he heard the sound of laughter. He looked up into - of course - Eren Jaeger’s mocking face.

“Inspired to finally pop the question yourself?” Eren asked, leaning forward with his eyebrows raised questioningly. Jean realized with horror that he was actually on one knee and clutching Eren’s arm in a ridiculous parody of Connie’s earlier proposal.

“In your dreams, Jaeger,” he retorted angrily, hauling himself to his feet and wrenching his hand away. He stomped off, muttering to himself about the “Stupid fucking idiot.” But even that wasn’t enough to erase the feeling he got when he looked back at Connie and Sasha, so clearly besotted with each other.

In this new routine, Eren always falls asleep in his own bed. Jean, too, but only into a light doze. It’s only when Eren climbs in next to him, all sharp knees and elbows, that Jean can finally relax and fall into a deeper sleep.

Luckily, Eren doesn’t sleepwalk again, so at least Jean doesn’t have to get out of bed in the middle of the night. He still cries, though. Some nights Jean startles awake in the dark to find that his shirt is soaking wet, Eren, still asleep, sobbing silently into his shoulder blades. On those nights, Jean awkwardly shifts around so he can pat Eren on the back and murmur soft, soothing words into his ear, like “How the fuck am I going to sleep in this swamp, you big jerk?” When he wipes away the tears from Eren’s face, he can feel the faint impression of Titan marks beneath his fingers, rough stripes on the otherwise smooth skin. Eventually, the shuddering tears stop, and he can wriggle back around towards the wall and sleep for the remainder of the night.

Eren is always gone in the morning. No matter what time Jean wakes up, he’s the only one there, and Eren’s bed is made so tightly you could bounce a rock on it.

He doesn’t see much of Eren during the daytime. In a very unfortunate turn of events, Captain Levi suffers an unexpected mishap while out on some mystery scouting errand and breaks his collarbone. This clearly puts the Captain’s stress level at an all-time high, because his standards for cleanliness skyrocket to inhuman levels. Jean grumbles to anyone who will listen that he is now spending almost all of his waking hours re-washing windows he’s washed several times already. Eren, on the other hand, is mostly closeted away with Hanji and Moblit, doing more “experiments.”

One evening at dinner, as Jean sees a tired-looking Eren ferociously dig into a mountain of food, his eyes gleaming, Jean has a moment of realization: Eren is kicking ass. Whatever he’s doing with Hanji and Moblit, it’s working. His titan is getting stronger, faster, more powerful, or whatever. And they desperately need that stronger, faster, more powerful Eren-titan. So if it means Jean has to suck it up and get a little less sleep for a few weeks, that’s okay. Humanity needs Eren-titan. Eren-titan needs Eren. And Eren needs Jean: to help him sleep better, to keep the nightmares at bay, or whatever the fuck it is that Jean is doing. As he’s thinking this, he also realizes that, instead of having his usual feelings of jealousy, or intimidation, at Eren’s success, he actually feels weirdly happy, and maybe even kind of proud. It’s only when Eren catches his eye and winks – _winks_ \- at him, that he further realizes that not only is he staring at Eren, but that he, Jean, has what is probably a very stupid, sappy smile on his face. He blushes and looks away, at the same time nervously inhaling a huge forkful of vegetables.

As Connie pounds on his back, and he coughs and splutters his way back to breathing, he wonders why choking gives him that strange, fizzy feeling in his chest.

The squads are briefed on their mission the evening before they leave. The goal is to try to create a small but secure base outside the walls which can be used as an overnight shelter for longer missions. It will also serve as a storage area for spare gas cannisters and other vital equipment. It will be constructed primarily out of Titan hardening, and will need to be tall enough to offer sufficient protection against all sizes of titans. It will be built piecemeal, and tomorrow’s mission will be a sort of trial run. They will be moving deep into enemy territory, and significant casualties are possible. Jean’s squad will largely be concerned with guarding the equipment.

As he’s lying in bed, Jean feels a strange sort of nervousness. It’s no different from any other mission; every time they venture outside the walls, there is risk involved. He’s done it so many times now, it should feel like slipping on an old glove. But tonight, for some reason, he feels different. He’s even having a hard time falling asleep. Eventually, he drifts off into a sort of half-doze. But when he doesn’t feel the now familiar weight of Eren curling up around him, he wakes up. He rolls onto his side in confusion, blindly looking in the direction of Eren’s bed.

Eren is in the process of sitting up. His eyes are closed, and he’s moving jerkily, just like he did that first night. His legs swing awkwardly off the bed.

“Oi, idiot,” Jean hisses, “what are you doing?” Eren doesn’t seem to hear him.

“C’mon!” he whispers, adding temptingly, “Nice, warm bed over here.” He doesn’t want to wake anyone else up. Although, he wouldn’t mind if Armin happened to notice what was going on and offered some assistance. He glances hopefully towards the big pile of blankets that is Armin, but it is immediately obvious that nothing short of daybreak will drag Armin out of sleep.

Eren stands up, and Jean leaps into action. He’s up and next to Eren in a flash, but Eren is already shambling towards the door, opening it, walking out barefoot into the hall, his head bent down so that he would be looking at the floor if there was any actual looking involved.

“What are you doing?” hisses Jean, dancing after him. Eren doesn’t pay him the slightest bit of attention.

“Dammit, you need to get to bed! Big day tomorrow! Lots of hardening to be done!” Eren shivers slightly, but he doesn’t stop his shuffling march toward the lockers. Jean is reminded how eerie it is to see Eren walking in that uneven, spasmodic gait, his eyes closed tight.

Jean runs and stands in front of him. Eren stretches out a fist as though he is trying to punch him. But Jean’s so used to this particular dance with Eren, and it’s such a slow, awkward fist, that all he has to do is dodge slightly to the left before shifting back into place in order to (hopefully) block Eren’s march forward.

“You ninny!” He knows it sounds pathetic, but somehow he can’t quite bring himself to call Eren anything worse. He’s not sure what else he should do. He rapidly sifts through various options. Should he knock Eren out? Probably not a good idea, as the whole mission relies on Eren being in top form. Should he get backup? But he does not want to leave Eren alone right now, and he also vividly recalls Armin saying that Eren really, really, does not want anyone else to know about his sleepwalking. And how will it help if even one other person is dead tired tomorrow, when they all really need to be at their best?

Eren moves forward, as though he’s going to shuffle right through Jean, and Jean opens up his mouth, and just… talks.

“Eren,” he says softly. At the sound of his name, Eren’s head jerks up. If his eyes were open, he’d be staring right into Jean’s. Jean wonders absently if this is the first time he has ever called Eren by his first name.

“Please, Eren. Come back to bed.” Eren snuffles lightly through his nose, and rocks back and forth on his heels.

“Eren,” says Jean again, and he reaches out to brush his fingers lightly over the closed eyelids. Eren freezes at his touch, and his jaw drops slightly, his mouth forming a small “o”.

“Please?” Jean asks. “Please, come with me?” For some reason, this does the trick. Eren allows himself to be led back to bed. When he is sure Eren is asleep, really asleep, his breathing deep and regular, his body limp, Jean bends his head down and whispers into Eren’s ear, “Stay alive tomorrow. Please, stay alive.” It’s not that he doesn’t want Eren-titan to die, although of course he doesn’t want that- humanity needs Eren-titan. It’s that he doesn’t want Eren, to die, his - he stumbles. His what? He used to think Eren was his rival, maybe even his enemy, but those feelings are long gone. His comrade? His friend? His- here, his brain gives up, and he decides to not try to sort it out any further. Instead, he focuses on the one thing about which he is absolutely certain: he does not want Eren Jaeger to die tomorrow. Because even if he is a titan, Eren is still a suicidal bastard, and he’s not invincible. And the thought of Eren not being curled up with him in this bed tomorrow night leaves a very panicky feeling in the pit of Jean’s stomach. Maybe that’s why tonight he doesn’t turn around towards the wall. Instead, he stays facing Eren, his arms wrapped around Eren’s waist, his face buried in Eren’s hair.

Jean wipes the sweat from his eyes. They’ve been given the order to retreat, and he’s almost starting to feel optimistic. They’ve overall dispatched about 20 titans, and he doesn’t think anyone has died yet. Eren has also managed to successfully create the first segment of the planned shelter. It’s on the thin side, and maybe not quite tall enough to keep out the biggest titans, but stable enough to stand alone. Eren’s clearly tired, though, sitting with his back to the wall, visibly panting.

Jean sends his squad up ahead to help pack the wagons, but he himself lingers; even moves a little closer to the newly formed wall. What is Eren doing? Instead of retreating, Eren now has his hands pressed against the surface of the wall, and it looks like he is continuing to add layers of hardening. Jean squints. Dammit, why the hell isn’t he falling back? Only four Scouts, the two assigned to the southern guard point and the two assigned to the eastern guard point, are behind Eren. Everyone else has moved forward; even Mikasa is up ahead, busy exchanging her gas cannisters before the trek home.

Jean is reminded once again that he should never, ever, ever feel even the least bit optimistic outside the walls. An abnormal, face to the ground, springs out from the south, barely slowing down to toss the two surprised scouts into its mouth, then galloping at top speed directly towards Eren. And, unbelievably, another one is bearing down from the west.

Jean notices this even as he finds he has already shot out his grappling hooks. They don’t land quite high enough on the new wall to get him where he needs to go, but right now it looks like he’s the closest one to Eren, and he just better damn well make it.

Because instead of retreating back towards the wagons, towards the other scouts, towards help, Eren, perennial shithead that he is, roars, staggers to his feet and runs straight at the abnormal with the pair of legs still dangling obscenely from its mouth. In a way it might be considered somewhat lucky that the abnormals converge on him so quickly and bite into his legs, at least stopping Eren from moving further away from help.

On the other hand, it’s not so lucky that Eren, caught off guard by this unexpectedly coordinated attack, falls down face-first with an earth-shattering thud. He must hit his head pretty hard, too, because he doesn’t get up. He just lies there, unmoving, the back of his neck wide open to attack. The abnormals are busy tearing great chunks of flesh out of his legs.

“Fuck,” says Jean, a string of expletives exploding in his head, because he doesn’t think he can possibly make it in time.

But then, somehow, he swings his body in a wide arc, up and over the abnormals, and manages to drop onto the back of Eren’s neck. He quickly scrambles to his feet, then hesitates for a flicker of a second; he’s never personally cut Eren out. What if he lops off his head by mistake? But there’s no time to worry, all around are gnashing teeth and large, grabbing fingers, and he sinks his blade in. Eren pops out, and Jean thinks he’s bleeding, thinks he may have chopped off a limb or too, but he can’t dwell on that right now. He heaves him over one shoulder – when did Eren get so heavy? He always looks like he’s light as a feather when Mikasa carries him. And then Jean is sending his hooks back to the wall, as fast as he can, jumping into the air, using whatever gas he has left to shoot them forwards.

Something grabs his leg. Jean thrusts his sword, slicing through thick, sausage fingers, and manages to cut loose. The motion propels them into a tailspin, though, and Jean completely loses control of the trajectory. Luckily, they’re still spinning away from where the titans are eating as much of Eren’s discarded Titan body as they can before it disappears, but he has no control over where they are going. It’s all he can do to tighten his grip around Eren as they’re flung headlong willy-nilly.

All of the sudden the wall is right in front of him. He has a fraction of a second in which to drop the blade and twist his body just enough so that his left side, the side furthest from Eren, hits first. His shoulder seems to take most of the impact, and he supposes he should feel grateful it’s not his head, but he’s pretty sure that crunch was the sound of bones breaking, if the pain is anything to go by. Something warm and sticky is oozing down his face, and he’s having trouble seeing, and he’s just hanging there, dangling from the side of the wall, his left arm completely useless. Eren starts to slip from his grasp.

“Fuck,” he says, as his vision darkens. He knows he’s going to pass out, he can’t help it, he’s just trying to hold on to Eren a little longer, not let go, hope someone else can come along, that he can pass Eren to safety…

His left side is a seething mass of pain. He’s lying down, and when he opens his eyes, he finds he’s staring at a bucket. He’s quite grateful for the bucket, as he is immediately swamped by a wave of nausea. He grabs it and retches convulsively into it. There’s nothing in his stomach except acid, so it’s mostly dry heaves, but this sets up a pounding headache that feels like it will split his head in two.

When his vision clears, he sees that there are several other bodies lying nearby, bodies which seem to be in the same general condition as he is. There is an intermittent medley of low groans. He’s also filthy, crusted over with blood and who knows what else. He doesn’t even have a pillow, for Christ’s sake, and the hard ground is not helping his headache any. In a way it’s worse than being in a battle, because he doesn’t seem to have the energy to move. But there’s something else, some niggling fear that he can’t quite put his finger on, that’s worse than the nausea, worse than the headache, worse than the pain. A moment later it hits him like a ton of bricks: what’s happened to Eren? He lifts his head enough that he can get a better look at the other limp bodies, but he doesn’t recognize Eren among them.

At some point, someone comes by. He tries to croak out a ”What happened-“ but it doesn’t sound like human speech, and the man isn’t listening, anyway. He just replaces Jean’s bucket with a fresh one, leaves a clean washcloth, and says quickly to him, “Several of the bones in your arm were broken, and have now been set. You also have stitches on your head, so please don’t touch those bandages. You’ll probably be nauseous for the rest of the night from the sedative you received. We’ll be moving out tomorrow morning so we can get you into a proper sick bay. Try to get some rest.”

The man clearly doesn’t understand. How can Jean possibly rest if he doesn’t even know if Eren is still alive? But all he can do is lie there, in mental and physical agony, feeling like he has finally gone to Hell.

Sometime later, he hears footsteps again. Someone squats down next to him. He doesn’t have the energy to lift his head, but he does open his eyes. Green eyes stare back at him.

“Hello, sunshine,” says Eren, grinning crookedly down at him.

Relief sweeps through Jean. Eren is alive. He can walk. He can talk. He has all of his limbs.

“Thank God!” he manages to croak out. But just saying the words is enough to spur a wave of nausea, and he leans over, retching into the bowl.

“Happy to see you, too, horseface,” says Eren.

“Always a pleasure,” mumbles Jean, awkwardly wiping his face with the washcloth. It’s a terrible comeback, but, really, cut him some slack. Now that he knows Eren is okay, he’s even more horribly aware of the pain lashing his body. He can’t help but groan a bit.

“Does it hurt a lot?” asks Eren in a worried voice.

“Ngh,” he grunts meaninglessly. Eren scoots over and gathers Jean’s head carefully up into his lap. Jean has to admit that Eren’s lap is considerably nicer than the cold, hard ground. He rests for a minute, enjoying the feeling of Eren’s hands gently patting his head, smoothing his hair. But Eren probably has a million things to do right now, all more important than babying Jean.

“You don’t have to stay here, you know,” he says. “I’m fine.”

“Really?” asks Eren incredulously. “You look unbelievably shitty. And, to be honest, you don’t smell that great either.”

“Whose fault is that?” It slides out automatically, and he immediately regrets the words, because Eren’s face crumples.

“I’m sorry,” Eren says. “I’m really sor-“

“Ah, shut the fuck up,” Jean cuts him off irritably, because this is not the conversation he wants to be having right now ,when, despite the pain, he’s so relieved and- happy even, that Eren is alive and well. The last thing he wants is for Eren to feel guilty for Jean doing his job properly. He closes his eyes tiredly.

A moment later, he feels something very light brush against his lips. His eyes snap open to the dizzying view of Eren’s upside down face hovering above his own. He’s hit with another wave of nausea and pushes Eren’s face away, rolling over to dry heave into the bucket again.

“Not the effect I was going for,” says Eren drily, as Jean collapses back into his lap, panting and sweating.

“Your timing kind of stinks,” says Jean, rather pointing out the obvious.

“Maybe,” Eren replies thoughtfully. He’s picked up the washcloth and is very carefully wiping the sweat, dried blood and other muck off of Jean’s face. “I just… didn’t have the nerve before. You can be kind of… intimidating sometimes, you know.”

“Me?” snorts Jean. “Speak for yourself.”

“At least right now I can take advantage of your helplessness,” Eren continues.

There’s a slight pause, as if he needs a moment to gather up his courage. He leans down, his lips barely brushing against Jean’s ear, and whispers, in a rush, “I love you, Jean Kirstein.”

And Jean’s heart is thumping like crazy, the fizzy feeling threatening to explode out of his chest. He whispers back, “I love you too, Eren Jaeger.” Because there’s just no point in waiting anymore in this crazy, fucked-up nightmare of a world. Why shouldn’t they grab a little happiness during the time they have left, however short that might be?


End file.
